


Of Monsters, and Men with Demons

by pamdizzle



Series: Dreams of Lace and Satin [3]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Intimacy, Jim's Guilt, Lingerie, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Oral Sex, mentioned - Freeform, post 4x21
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-18
Updated: 2018-05-18
Packaged: 2019-05-08 14:49:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14696409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pamdizzle/pseuds/pamdizzle
Summary: Figurative demons.An unexpected shopping detour leads Jim to ponder he and Oswald's relationship, and the possibility that he's the one falling short.





	Of Monsters, and Men with Demons

**Author's Note:**

> Oswald's Piece from this Chapter:https://xdress.com/collections/mens-lingerie/products/the-butterfly-nightie?variant=45205583427

Jim isn’t sure what possesses him to buy it. One minute, he’s picking up a few new ties to replace the ones he’s managed to ruin chasing after Gotham’s criminal underground, and the next he’s standing in the middle of Sephora’s, nervously biting the inside of his cheek. He almost turns right back around, but he’s stopped short by a beaming sales associate. “Searching for a gift?”

Jim hesitates. Is he? “I don’t know,” he replies honestly.

The sales lady—Margie, her name tag says—hums in commiseration. “Thinking of your girlfriend and saw something she might like, huh?”

“Sort of.” Jim sighs. “He uh…”

“Oh!” Margie blushes. “Well, same basic rules apply! What’s he into?”

Sexy underwear, mostly, Jim thinks, but doesn’t say. “I think he wears eye liner sometimes. I was just thinking…”

“Eye liner? Sounds dramatic,” Margie says, not unkindly.

Jim chuckles. “You have no idea. But he’s…it looks good on him.”

“May I ask what color his eyes are?”

Jim bites his lips, thinking how best to describe them. Light blue doesn’t seem to do them justice. “They’re…like ice.”

Margie arches an eyebrow? “Cold?”

“What?” Jim shakes his head, frustrated with himself. “No, not—not cold. Not really. They’re just,” Jim coughs, embarrassed for rambling about Oswald’s eyes like this lady gives a flying shit about how fucking beautiful they are. God, his palms are sweating. Why is he still here? “Blue. They’re a lighter blue.”

Margie smiles, happy to ignore Jim’s fumbling. “Light or dark hair?”

“Dark. Black, actually.”

“ _Nice_.”

Jim rubs at his neck, flushing, as he agrees, “Yeah.”

Margie gives him one of those ‘look at the adorable puppy’ looks before giddily gesturing for him to follow her. “I think I know just the thing!”

Curiosity outweighs his discomfort as he follows Margie to the other end of the small boutique. There’s row upon row of colored pencils—lip liner, maybe?—shiny tubes and square tubes. So many tubes, Jim thinks dazedly.

“So, your partner sounds like a world class hottie and with his coloring, I’m going to recommend some deep reds to make those ice-blue eyes really pop.”

Jim swallows. He’s known he was bisexual since he hit puberty, though he’s had far more female lovers than male. There’s only been two short lived flings, one in college and another back in basic. There’s never been an occasion that necessitated him to be open about his sexuality with a stranger and he finds the experience somewhat surreal.

Not the least because he’s apparently buying lipstick for another man.

Christ.

Jim feels overwhelmed, sometimes, by how much he’s shared with Oswald; Things about himself that no one else knows, that Jim has never felt comfortable enough to confide. Maybe it has something to do with having accidentally taken that choice from Oswald when Jim had caught him in that tiny little nightie. Maybe it’s easier to share because Jim wants to make it up to him, or maybe there’s safety in knowing Oswald is in no position to judge whether or not Jim wants to be bossed around sometimes, or that he maybe…wants to see Oswald’s red stained lips against his skin.

Oswald probably won’t even want to wear it; will think Jim is trying to dress him up like a woman or something. Think he’s not what Jim wants. Because the last gift Jim gave him went over so well, he thinks sarcastically. This will probably backfire as spectacularly as always. Jim doesn’t know why he’s here, except it’s been six months and, somehow, he and Oswald are still together, in their way, and Jim wants to do something nice.

For his boyfriend.

Partner?

He hasn’t given much thought to labels, since he and Oz are still the only two people who know. Maybe his subconscious is still picking over Jim’s guilty conscience. There are still days when he is thick in a case, blood and bodies, and he catches himself day dreaming about the _mobster_ he can’t wait to go home to, berating himself for being so foolish. This thing they have, it’s feels good, and right, but Jim knows it’s forbidden fruit. It isn’t like what Harvey had with Fish. There is nothing casual about the way Jim likes to wrap Oswald up in satin and hold him on the couch after dinner. The way Oswald is always so shy at first, when he shows Jim a new piece of lingerie, or when Jim pulls him into his lap just because sometimes Jim just can’t get close enough.

Whatever light Oswald says is in Jim, it wants nothing more than to climb into Oswald’s shadows and twine with his darkness. That should be frightening, but Jim can only feel relieved, especially on bad days, that he has someone he can talk to about his own dark places. Someone who isn’t going to go pale at the thought of Jim killing a man in the line of duty. Look at him like he’s some monster over the harder aspects of his job.

Oswald isn’t some dainty princess, not really, but damned if Jim doesn’t want to treat him like one. Give him something nice for putting up with all of Jim’s baggage. He isn’t sure what part of his Id1 interpreted something nice as makeup, but he is suddenly very interested in seeing Just how much Oswald’s features will sharpen if Jim covers his lips in any of the red shades Jim has found himself staring at.

Margie is waving a hand in front of his face and Jim snaps back to awareness. He blinks. “Sorry.”

“Wow.” Margie laughs conspiratorially. “Wish someone would zone out like that over me. You must really love that guy, huh?”

Jim clears his throat, not sure how to answer. He knows how he feels about Oswald, he just isn’t sure how he feels about those feelings. Oswald isn’t shy about his own, tells Jim he loves him every time they say goodbye or hang up the phone. Sometimes after Jim has taken him apart. He never waits, expectant, for Jim to say it back and Jim feels like an asshole. Hates how relieved he is sometimes that he doesn’t ever have to admit it. Not if he doesn’t want to.

He wants to. It makes something ugly twist, sickeningly, in his stomach.

Suddenly, Jim doesn’t feel like shopping anymore. He points to the containers in Margie’s hands and says, “I’ll take those ones.”

Margie seems to catch onto his shift in mood, but blessedly doesn’t say anything. She really is good at her job, Jim muses as she replies, “Sure thing.”

***

Jim’s alone in his apartment, staring at the bag filled with his purchases from three days ago. He’s seen Oswald every day since, but Jim still can’t bring himself to show Oswald his gifts. Oz has never mentioned any desire to wear lipstick, he doesn’t even talk about the eyeliner and Jim has never seen him putting it on. Is it something Oswald is uncomfortable with? Would Jim be forcing his hand, like he unwittingly did with the lingerie?

Jim sighs. It doesn’t really have anything to do with Oz, Jim can admit. Lipstick is something Jim likes. He likes the way it looks on other people, likes how it smears when gentle kisses turn heated. Likes the way it looks wrapped around his cock. He wants to see it stretched over Oz’s mouth while He sucks Jim’s fingers.

Jim grinds his teeth. Oswald would let him. He gives Jim whatever he asks for, even the things he can’t put a voice to; Oz always figures him out. Because Oswald loves him. The thought always makes something ache in Jim’s throat because he’d thought…

He pushes off the couch, anxiously pacing toward the window so he can feel a little closer to open air. He thinks back to that night. Back to Oswald trying to give him an out, thinking it was what Jim wanted. That he couldn’t cope with the full weight of his decision to be with someone like the Penguin. He’d never seen Oswald be so selfless and, _this_ , for Jim. That had been mind-opening enough, but for Oswald to confess that he was in love with Jim, despite it putting him at a disadvantage, Jim couldn’t turn away.

There’d always been little glimpses, here and there, of the fragile, unhappy man beneath the immaculate veneer of the Penguin. It’s why Jim’s had such a hard time writing him off as a lost cause over the years—though he’d come close a couple times. Whether it’s tactical or some small piece of Oswald that still desires to do good, the man has helped Jim save this city on multiple occasions. Not to mention, all the times Jim has seen him at bottom, desperate and scraping. There’s something about Oswald, when he’s made vulnerable, that Jim can’t shake.

He’d been caught off guard by the confession, though he’d always known Oswald had a thing for him, at least back in the beginning. He knows Oswald experiences emotion on a level that is incomparable to most—it makes him impulsive and, Jim admits, dangerous. Jim’s seen his file at Arkham, labeling him a psychopath2, incapable of empathy or remorse, and a narcissist. If those things are true, Oswald shouldn’t be capable of love, and Jim might have believed it if he hadn’t managed to glimpse Oswald in all those moments where he came to Jim lacking all artifice.

Maybe Jim is just making excuses for himself. Maybe he just needs to believe he has reasons for sleeping with one of Gotham’s most notorious ‘psychopaths.’ Regardless, he can’t deny that the last six months have been amazing, despite a few close calls. Oswald might be morally bankrupt in ways most people can’t fathom, easily dismissed as another of Gotham’s soulless monsters, and Jim hadn’t known Oswald could love, but he does, and more deeply than most. And Jim…

Jim takes, and takes because Oswald just gives without pretense, without thinking it through. He doesn’t think he has any power over Jim, and there is a certain safety in that because if Oz knew just how much power he has, would he be able to resist pressing the advantage? Jim feels dirty just thinking it. Always assuming the worst of everyone, and especially Oswald despite how much he—

Fuck.

Jim loves him.

He loves Oswald so fucking much he’s choking on it half the time.

Jim loves the way he talks, the way he sounds when Jim’s inside him. He loves Oswald’s breathless giggles when he’s so damn happy he can’t keep it locked behind his lips. Jim loves to kiss those lips, loves the give and take. He loves the way Oswald makes him feel, the way he looks at Jim like he’s some big damn hero, touches him like he’s a gift. Jim isn’t a gift, he knows that. If anything, he’s a huge fucking burden, standing between Oswald and certain areas of his ambition, but Oswald makes him feel valuable. Makes him feel like a worthy trade, and what does Jim do?

He buys Oswald gifts he can’t bring himself to give. Underestimates his capacity for human emotion. Takes his love and runs, because that’s easier than admitting how much loving Oswald sets Jim free. Because that darkness Oswald has? That stuff inside him that makes him capable of wielding capricious violence as easily as flipping a switch? Jim loves that too.

Jim especially loves that, he is ashamed to admit even to himself let alone out loud. Because that right there? That means Oswald isn’t weak. He isn’t someone Jim has to protect or feel responsible for shielding from Gotham’s evil. Most of all, though, it’s _honest_. Jim doesn’t know if he has a type, or if it’s just bad luck, but before Oswald he tended to fall for people with a hidden dark side, like a moth to a flame. The difference here, is that Oswald doesn’t try to create the illusion of white picket fences and normalcy. Oswald isn’t shy about who he is, enjoys being a bastard most of the time and, if he’s honest with himself, Jim likes watching the show.

Oz has been to Arkham, declared certifiably psychotic, but he isn’t crazy—that’s the beauty of his deceit. Oswald uses his labels to manipulate the world around him, proudly flying them whenever it suits his ends, and cautiously obfuscating them when it doesn’t. Jim admires his brilliance, as often as he has been frustrated by it. He’s an ambitious, violent, manipulative little shit.

And Jim is in love with him.

What the fuck does that say about him?

Moreover, what does it say about him that his notorious mobster boyfriend is more capable of clearly expressing his emotions than Jim, whose own file labels him as ‘mentally sound’? Yeah, right. Jim is risking a lot for the sake of this relationship, that’s true, but Oz is risking infinitely more. Sure, he could lose his job and respectability if his superiors found out, but Oz would be bled out, by one adversary or another. Hell, they’d probably all gather round to take their shots.

And Jim can’t even bring himself to give in equal share. He’s got one foot constantly outside the door, and why? So he can cast off their association the second this becomes inconvenient? Is he waiting for when Oswald’s climb to the top of Gotham’s underworld gets too bloody to ignore? Is this supposed to make it hurt less somehow, make it easier to lock him away if Jim’s hand is forced?

It’s clear, they’re not stopping. Jim’s not even sure prison bars would be enough to keep them from one another. Jim’s not leaving. He could, which, he thinks is why he hesitates. Leaving the option open for a clean getaway, but even that’s a fallacy.

Because Jim won’t. He takes one look Oswald, sees all that affection on his face—just for Jim, the one exception to every rule Oswald has likely carefully crafted to keep himself safe—and Jim can’t break him in that way.

Because Jim knows Oswald is calculated in everything, except this. Oswald says so much in all the things he doesn’t say at all. The way he tells Jim he’s a fine detective but shies away when Jim tries to say Oswald is clever too. Won’t let Jim tell him he’s good at anything. Gets uncomfortable, still, when Jim pays attention to the leg Fish tried to destroy. Oz can tell Jim how handsome he is, but if Oswald isn’t wearing something pretty, doesn’t trust that Jim’s earnest when he says Oz looks good in his suits, too.

How Oswald can tell Jim he loves but doesn’t wait for Jim to say it back. Never has. Like he thinks—knows—Jim never could.

And Jim has used that because he’s selfish in the one arena where Oswald is entirely selfless. He’ll gladly only take whatever Jim can deign to give him, as if that’s somehow only fair. As if Jim has drawn the short straw just for being with Oswald.

His thoughts are interrupted when he hears shuffling footsteps in the hall. Oswald’s finally awake, well past noon. Jim smiles at the sight of him, rubbing his eyes and yawning, hair soft and mussed from sleep. Oswald doesn’t hesitate to make his way toward Jim where he stands grinding his teeth by the window. Those lithe arms encircle him from behind, as Oswald rests his face between Jim’s shoulder blades. Jim isn’t overly tall, but he has two inches on Oswald, and he always enjoys how well they fit together.

“Mornin’,” Oswald mumbles.

Jim chuckles. “It’s after one.”

“Exactly.” Oswald teases. “It’s morning for the creatures of the night.”

Jim sighs, turning around so he can hold the man properly. His eyes catch on the bag from Sephora’s and he frowns. Oswald notices him tense, glances at Jim’s face and follows his line of sight in the breadth of a single moment.

Oz turns back to him, surprising Jim with a saucy smirk. “Finally gonna hand it over, huh?”

Jim groans miserably. He asks, chagrined, “How long have you known?”

“Same day you bought it.”

The question must be on his face like a blinking neon sign, because Oswald smiles—that little arrogant grin of his—and explains, “Coat closets are the worst place to hide a brightly colored bag, Jim. Especially when all your coats are black. It was like a sore thumb sticking out from behind all those jackets.”

Jim frowns. “You know what it is.”

“Yes, Jim.” Oswald rolls his eyes, smile shifting toward mischief. “This may come as a surprise to you, but I actually have no shame at all. Why wouldn’t I look? What the hell were you doing anywhere near a Sephora’s anyway?”

Jim smiles, chagrined. “Tie shopping at the mall.”

Oswald crosses the living room and snatches up the bag. He picks out one of the tubes and casually breaks the seal, pulls off the cap and swipes it over his lips, rubbing them together after. He turns to Jim, deep red stain doing exactly what Margie said it would. Holy shit.

This is the kind of shit Oswald does that twists Jim all up in knots. Anyone else would tease Jim mercilessly for such an unusual desire, would lord it over his head even if they decided to humor him by wearing it. Oswald just wants to make him happy, and he doesn’t care if that means wearing pretty little nighties or trying on lipstick. Jim doesn’t even have to ask.

Oswald gives him a sassy smile and a saucy wink. “Is it everything you hoped it would be?”

Jim’s tongue is glued to the roof his mouth, but he manages a stupefied, “Yeah.”

He gets a quirked brow in response for that, and Oswald sits himself on the couch, and beckons Jim over with a finger. “Why don’t you come show me.”

The cloud of Jim’s depression dissipates for the time being, as Oswald provides the perfect distraction. This is a far cry from the virgin he took to bed half a year ago, those blue eyes all too-knowing when it comes to Jim. He has plans to sit himself on Oswald’s lap and kiss him silly, but he’s stopped short by firm hands against his thighs. Oswald slides his fingers up to the elastic waist of Jim’s sweatpants instead. He frees Jim’s embarrassingly hard dick from its confines, then peers up at him from under his lashes.

“I said, _show me_.” Oswald opens his mouth, letting it hover just beyond the head of Jim’s cock, waiting. He knows how much Jim gets off on being told what to do, and it’s just another way he gives.

Jim swallows. There’s so much he wants to say, but he can’t think beyond the red circle of Oswald’s lips, the wet heat he can feel tempting him inside. Oswald’s eyes, that crystal blue stare he couldn’t describe three days ago made all the more vibrant for the red paint on Oz’s lips, are fixed on Jim— _demanding._  

Jim can’t say no. He never can.

Oz experiments every time he takes Jim into his mouth. Always trying to go deeper, to stay down longer. He’d lacked finesse at first, but Jim’s gone on the man’s enthusiastic dedication to sucking Jim’s soul out through his cock. Oz has it down to an art form now, and Jim is powerless to keep himself from moaning at the expert application of tongue to his slit as Jim slowly guides himself into Oz’s pliant mouth.   

He stops when half is dick is surrounded, finally risking a glance at the sight of those blood red lips wrapped around him. It’s obscene…it’s unbearably hot. Jim, completely aroused and damn near out of his mind with it, thrusts forward instinctively, accidentally choking Oswald. He makes to pull back, but his hips are held steady by Oz’s firm grip. How the man is able to look haughty with a dick in his mouth, Jim will never understand, but it’s there in Oz’s gaze as winks at Jim before taking him in even further.

And further.

Until there’s nothing but red lips and hollowed cheeks, Jim’s cock fully sheathed in hot, wet suction. He closes his eyes. “Fuck!”

He feels Oswald nod, and Jim’s swallows, cock throbbing at the thought alone. Oswald’s gaze, when Jim can bring himself to reopen his eyes, is a full-on dare. It sparks something fiery in his blood, and Jim places a hand at the back of Oz’s head, as Oswald pushes his sweats to the floor so Jim can lift his right foot onto the edge of the couch for a better angle to… _God_ …

So he can fuck Oswald’s face with abandon.

Jim doesn’t know what it is about Oswald Cobblepot, but he has always been able to push Jim’s buttons. He doesn’t hesitate to prove just how good at it he is now, either, slipping a stealthy finger against Jim’s hole, just sat there, sliding as Jim thrusts, and _fuck—_ Jim wants it.

“Yeah,” Jim pants. “Oz. Please.”

Oswald hums and Jim feels a small intrusion alongside his cock as he thrusts into Oz’s mouth just before there’s a slick press of a digit against his entrance. This time with intent, and Jim bears down, welcoming it inside with an embarrassingly needy whine.

“Fuck.” Jim huffs, his body starting to shake with the building tension. “You’re so good to me, baby. Feel so good.” He feels his testicles clench as Oswald finds his prostate and Jim shouts. “Oh God! Fuck! Oz…’M gonna come on your pretty lips.”

Oz pulls him to the brink, then swiftly over it, swallowing a little first, then backing off entirely to let Jim finish just how he wanted, with obscene white stripes, over his smeared red lips. Jim’s eyes are locked on the picture it makes, his breath coming out of him in heavy pants of air. When he can’t stand it any longer, he climbs into Oswald’s lap. He’s feeling the good kind of dirty, riding high from his orgasm and feeding off the fire blazing behind Oz’s gaze. It doesn’t take much effort to unwrap the man from his robe, run his hands down the sheer white material of his camisole until he reaches Oswald’s heavy cock.

It’s standing at attention over the waist of Oz’s panties. This is definitely Jim’s favorite pair, he thinks, as he licks his own semen from Oswald’s mouth and spits it back into his palm. He likes how innocent it makes Oswald look, pure white lace with butterfly accents. As if he’s some kind of fucking whimsical fey pixie.

It makes him want to drag him through mud, make him dirty like Jim. He uses his own come to ease the friction as he fists Oswald’s cock, and pulls him off roughly. Oswald surges up to meet Jim’s lips, needy and mindless with it, as if giving Jim pleasure is all he needs to get off. Jim kisses the praise out of Oz’s mouth when he comes all over himself.

Oswald holds Jim after, letting him lay over Oz on the couch, and Jim basks in his attentive caresses—fingers stroking softly through his hair, little kisses to his temple, a soothing hand rubbing along his spine. When he feels like he can think again, Jim leans up to peck Oz gently on the lips and take in the damage. It’s better than Jim imagined, smiling at how the lipstick smeared all over Oz’s left cheek and jaw. Jim takes mercy on him, reaches to grab the bag from the coffee table, takes the little wet naps Margie had thrown in to make it easier for Jim’s boyfriend ‘to try them out and see what he likes best,’ and gently wipes his face clean.

Oswald opens his eyes, and they’re soft with affection as his mouth forms one of those rare, genuine smiles. The sweet, besotted kind he only gives to Jim, lips curving upward in soft lines. No pretenses, no withholding. Jim kisses that smile, right at the corner of Oz’s lips then brackets his face with gentle hands, ghosts his thumbs in a feather light caress over the angles of Oz’s cheekbones.

Jim opens his mouth, and his heart comes out.

“I love you.”

Oswald stares at him, eyes blinking slowly, face lax in shock, and _Christ_. Is it really so hard for him to believe?

“Hey,” Jim whispers, “whatever’s going on up there…just stop it.”

“But…” Oswald tries to argue, but Jim cuts him short.

“No. No buts,” he insists. “I’m sorry I didn’t say it sooner. I just...it felt safer until I realized there’s nothing safe about this, and I don’t want to keep hurting you.”

“It didn’t hurt.” Oswald denies it. “You don’t have to say it back. I know I’m not—”

Jim feels that familiar pain seize in his chest. “Don’t say it,” Jim pleads. “Oz. Don’t.”

Oswald has diverted his eyes, his mouth a tense line as he struggles with some emotion. Finally, he looks back at Jim, asks, “How can you love me, Jim? You’re… _good_.” His voice breaks on his next words, “You’re so good.”

“Hey,” Jim tries to soothe.

Oswald shakes his head, stuck in his belief that he’s just not good enough. Not good enough to be loved by anyone, and especially not Jim. Which is just…

Jim isn’t perfect. He’s not actually _good_ either, and yes, he tries his best to walk through the mire of Gotham without completely blackening his soul, but this entire city is various shades of gray and Jim is a part of it. Unequivocally. Oswald can’t keep this up, and Jim can’t keep giving it fuel by holding back his own feelings.

Jim just doesn’t know how to shake these thoughts from Oswald’s head. How to change his perception of himself, because what has Jim done by withholding the words except prove Oswald right? So, Jim says only what he knows is true.

He ducks his head, forcing eye contact as he says, “I’ve seen you at your worst, Oswald, remember? And I see you now.” Jim kisses him softly. “I see all the parts of you, and I love you. Even when I’m chasing your idiot henchmen through the darkened alleys of our fair city.”

Oswald holds his gaze, taking in Jim’s words and weighing them against his actions in an attempt to find some flaw; Jim knows his process so well. Eventually, Oswald sniffs, squares his shoulders and raises his chin. His eyes are wet, but they don’t spill over as he replies, “Victor may be an idiot, but he is a very violent idiot, and you really shouldn’t be following him into alleys, period.”

Jim grins. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

A beat, then, “I love you too,” Oswald replies, blushing like it’s the first time.

Yeah, Jim could have kept that foot outside the door, let himself hesitate and Oswald would have happily accepted whatever scraps Jim tossed him. But that’s not the way he wants Oswald to love him. They’re not always going to be on equal footing, when they’re out in the world doing what they do, but here…he wants them to be equals in this.

Maybe Oswald isn’t ‘good’—not the way most people would define it—maybe he is a kind of monster, but he loves Jim, accepts his demons, and he…

Well, Jim’s all in.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm putting this at the end, cuz, spoilery, as the lipstick is a new kink to this dynamic lol. 
> 
> Oz's shade is the one on the right: https://www.pinterest.com.au/pin/44895327512360145/
> 
>  
> 
> 1: Id, for those of you who haven't been forced through a psychology course yet, is how Freud referred to the most base part of a human's brain. It centers around our instinctive drive and impulse. 
> 
> 2: i'm using the psychoanalysis from this article (https://www.wired.com/2015/01/gotham-villain-psychoanalysis/) and putting it in Oz's Arkham file. Who knows what that file says, frankly. Jim prefers making his own determinations.
> 
> Kudos and comments are the food which feeds the muse. If you liked what you read, feel free to leave me one or the other!


End file.
